


Paris Sera Toujours Paris

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A major peace treaty has just been signed in Paris, and Baron Gilgamesh Wulfenbach welcomes his old friend Ardsley Wooster - now the Earl of Heversham - back to Europa.  What better opportunity for the two men to revisit the scenes of their youth together?</p>
<p>But Gil's past is not so innocent, and his friend the Earl finds himself unexpectedly having to deal with some of the repercussions of that in a tailor's shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris Sera Toujours Paris

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, I think, a very slight anachronism; it comes from the title of a song which, from the style, I would date at a guess to around the 1920s. However, it seemed so appropriate for the story that I could not resist using it.

“Ardsley!”

Gil bounded up to me without a trace of formality, beaming all over his face. “Good to see you again,” he continued. “And, look at you! You're looking well. Obviously a bit of home comfort has done wonders for you. I see you've put on a few kilos, and that's no bad thing at all.”

I smiled. “Good to see you too, Gil. Indeed I have. Remember, our national specialities include plum duff, spotted dick and Chancellor's pudding.”

“Which makes it all the more strange that you were so underweight last time we were in Paris together,” he said, with a grin.

“We're not actually in Paris as such,” I pointed out. And, indeed, we were not; we were, however, directly above it, on board Castle Wulfenbach. From Castle Wulfenbach I had been summarily evacuated when the war started, along with the rest of my embassy staff, and it was to Castle Wulfenbach that I had, at my own request, been returned as soon as the peace treaty had been signed in Paris. The rest of the diplomatic staff had been sent back to the embassy, with the exception of Dame Lucilla Kemp, who had been detailed as my personal bodyguard without my knowledge just before the war started. I now knew very well that this was what she was, and I was not unhappy about it. It meant that I could leave Forrest to look after my niece and her husband, and something told me they were likely to need him while I was away.

But I was not going straight back to the embassy, as I have enough clout now, as Forrest likes to put it, to have them listen when I tell them I intend to see Gil first. Therefore I was seeing Gil first, and the two of us were planning to spend some time revisiting old haunts.

“We'll be in Paris soon enough,” Gil said. “But first of all, you'll want a cup of tea, I expect, because you always do, and you'll probably want to see my temporary bodyguard.”

“Ah,” I said. “Someone I know, from the expression on your face.”

“I see being a rural peer hasn't dulled your wits at all. Certainly it is. Would you like a clue?”

“Feel free,” I replied.

“He's on secondment from Agatha.”

“Maxim!” I exclaimed.

Gil laughed. “Oh, you _are_ still sharp. How on earth did you know it was him and not Dimo or Oggie?”

“Because Dimo wouldn't leave Agatha for any secondment on earth, and you wouldn't have Oggie,” I replied. “It had to be Maxim. And I'm guessing further that there may be some young lady in the equation, is that correct? Otherwise I doubt Maxim would have left Agatha either.”

“You're right again,” said Gil. “I've mentioned General Hildegard von Donau in my letters, I'm sure.”

“Ah... yes, from what you've told me, I can imagine how she won Maxim's heart,” I said.

“Maxim's heart is not hard to win, but what was more impressive was that he also won hers,” Gil replied. “Apparently there's something about the way he fights that makes her go weak at the knees. So he is here for six months, and if things are still looking good between them after that, then Agatha and I will have to get into some serious negotiations.” He grinned. “I won't mind that. I never have a problem getting into negotiations with Agatha.”

“I'm a little surprised Maxim didn't tell me himself,” I observed.

“Oh, I know why that was,” said Gil. “He was afraid of jinxing it. That was why he asked me and the others not to tell you till you were back here yourself. He didn't want to tell you he was in love and then have you come back here and find him nursing a broken heart.”

Maxim himself walked in at this point. “Hey! Is der Earl!” he grinned. “Hyu lookink vell. How are de liddle ladies?”

“They're very well, Maxim,” I replied, with a smile. “How are you? I hear you are in love, and you didn't tell me, you old dog.”

He grinned, showing all his fangs happily. “Ho ja. Hy vant hyu to meet Hildegard very soon. She is a vonderful voman. Vot she did to von Blitzengaard's forces vos sheer poetry.”

“I shall look forward to that,” I promised.

“But first,” said Gil, “we are going to go and revisit Paris.”

It was less than an hour before we were down on the ground. Maxim followed us at a discreet distance with Dame Lucilla; he courteously offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitation, although I was fairly sure she had never previously been escorted by a Jäger. I think, in fact, that she found him interesting company, since he had after all been in the middle of the war and was therefore in a position to talk about it, and Maxim never needs much encouragement to talk.

I was glad he was talking so much. Dame Lucilla is no shrinking violet, but, even so, I am not sure that some of Gil's reminiscences were entirely fit to be heard by a lady.

“...and that alley,” Gil was saying, “is where that nightclub was where I met Margot and her sister. I can't even remember her sister's name now, but they were both absolute beauties. Shame about the nightclub; there's no sign there now, so it must be gone. Margot, you know, she was the one who taught me to...” He caught the expression on my face. “Sorry, Ardsley, forgot who I was talking to there for a moment.” Then he grinned. “You're the only person I know who's both sharp enough to know I wasn't going to say 'knit' or 'read music' or something similar, and modest enough to be shocked by it.”

“Well, your private life is your own, you know,” I said. “I don't wish to interfere in it, but I also don't require the details.”

He sighed. “It's history now. And you were always kind enough not to say so, but I was a very reckless and selfish young man. Still... the memories are there, and one might as well accept and enjoy them.”

“Indeed,” I agreed. “That hotel over there was where I first met the Princess Orlov. My entire life changed in a matter of moments.”

“Yes, without you ever actually touching her.”

“I rather belatedly put that right at the Tsar's ball, if you remember. We had a very enjoyable waltz for old times' sake.”

Gil eyed me sidelong. “You are still in the habit of automatically cleaning up every faintly off-colour suggestion I make.”

“I'm English,” I said, smiling. “You should be used to that by now.”

“If I weren't Baron Wulfenbach I would blow you a raspberry for that one. I know damn well you're not all like that. I _have_ met your... what is he now? Butler, didn't you say? That Forrest man, anyway, whatever he is.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I believe Mr Forrest is somewhat _sui generis_. And, indeed, he is my butler now.”

Gil raised an eyebrow. “I hope he cleans up well. I can't imagine him in a formal suit.”

“He does still look somewhat raffish, I fear, but he is an excellent butler. I have no complaints about him whatsoever.”

“I'm pretty sure I would,” said Gil. “But you're far more tolerant of... shall we say, eccentricity... than I am. Besides, he's as much your man as Dimo is Agatha's, and that does make a vast difference. Oh, look! Beauville's Patisserie is still open!”

“Twenty years fell away from you the moment you laid eyes on those macarons,” I said.

“They certainly did. Come on, Ardsley. Let's buy a basket full and enjoy some Proustian moments.”

“Wasn't that madeleines?” I enquired.

“It may have been for Proust, but it's damn well macarons for me. I adore those things.” He caught my arm and led me into the shop.

I like macarons, but not as much as Gil does; however, it occurred to me that they would be just the sort of things my daughters would really enjoy, so I bought a few for myself and a large box to be sent over to Blackrigg Hall by express airship. Gil bought an even larger box, put his head round the door of the shop, and called for Maxim. Maxim, seeing what he was going to be asked to carry, put on his most soulful expression.

“Ken hy haff vun, Herr Baron?” he asked, very politely.

“That only works on Agatha,” said Gil.

“Oh, Gil,” I said. “You've got plenty, and he did ask you very nicely.”

Gil sighed. “Oh, all right. One for you, and one for Dame Lucilla.”

“Tenk hyu!” Maxim grinned. “Now, Dame Lucilla, hyu iz de lady, so hyu gets to choose first.”

It hardly mattered. Gil had bought macarons of every colour and flavour, and there were several of everything. However, Dame Lucilla picked out a green one (either peppermint or pistachio, I thought), and Maxim then chose a purple one which could have been almost any flavour, but it went with his hat, and I suspect that was the reason for his choice.

“Is there anywhere you particularly want to go, Ardsley?” Gil asked, as we left the shop.

“Yes, there is, as it happens,” I replied. “I want to see if M Arnaud is still in business.”

Gil frowned. “Who was he?”

“My tailor. You remember I didn't go to the same one that you went to?”

“Oh, yes. Mine was more fashionable, but you swore blind yours did neater work.”

“Oh, he did, Gil. You couldn't possibly dispute that. His buttonholes alone were things of refined and classical beauty.”

Gil laughed. “Yes, well, some of us didn't spend all their time in Paris staring at their own buttonholes.”

“A thing well made is a thing of pleasure, Gil,” I rebuked him gently, but with a smile. “But if M Arnaud is still running his shop, I should like to have him make a waistcoat for me again. It will be like old times.”

“I hope he is, because I'm sure he'd enjoy that,” said Gil. “These days, you can afford the best fabrics he's got. He'll make you something special.” He gazed out across the river. “No point looking for my old tailor, I'm afraid. I heard he got into some trouble.”

“So have too many people lately,” I said, sombrely. “Paris is still Paris, and always will be; but it's neutral, isolated and very well protected. There's going to be a lot of clearing up to do, outside this charming bubble.”

“Yes, and I'm going to be doing much of that clearing up, and I know you too well to think I'm going to stop you helping me with that. Or to want to stop you helping, if I'm honest. But don't let's talk about that just now; I'm drawing breath between the war and its aftermath. Let me draw that breath cleanly.”

I nodded. “Sorry, Gil. Understood.”

We found M Arnaud's shop without any trouble, but it is small, and Gil had no desire or need to go in. Fortunately the adjacent shop was now a jeweller's, and Gil was more than happy to go and look in there while I went into the tailor's.

I was startled, when I walked in, to see a woman behind the counter. Do not mistake me, for I have no prejudice at all against female tailors, although I do always insist on being measured up by a man owing to the nature of the process. My astonishment was simply due to the fact that she was not M Arnaud, although his name still stood over the door.

“Ah,” I said. “Good morning, madame. Is M Arnaud here?”

She looked me up and down, then curtseyed. “Good morning, my lord,” she said. This was mildly unsettling; I had not intended to walk around with it written across my forehead, as it were. “He is upstairs, but I can help you if you wish.”

“Could I see him, madame?” I asked. “I lived in Paris many years ago and was one of his regular customers. I have, in fact, also come to order a waistcoat, with which I am sure you could help me, but I should like to see... your father, is it?... first, if I may.”

“Yes, my lord, he is my father. I am Elise Arnaud.”

“I thought you must be,” I said. “I remember you when you were a little girl of four or five, sitting on a high stool behind the counter sucking bonbons. I brought you a little wooden horse the last Christmas I was here.”

Her wan face lit up in a delighted smile. “Why! You are M Wooster! I would not have recognised you; but it was so long ago, I had forgotten how you looked.”

“Yes,” I said. “That is still who I am, although I am now also the Earl of Heversham.”

“I knew you were a lord,” she said, with an air of satisfaction. “I am never wrong about that. I shall go and find my father. He will be glad to see you.”

It took some time for M Arnaud to come downstairs, and when I saw him I immediately felt guilty; but then it occurred to me that I could always have been invited up if he had really not wished to come down. Still, he was old now, and clearly not well. I could see why he had now left the tailoring business in the hands of his daughter, for his hands trembled with the palsy and his eyelids drooped. Indeed, his whole face had a drooping look about it now, but he could still smile, and he was doing so.

“My lord,” he said. “I am honoured that you remember me.”

“No honour, M Arnaud; anyone with any taste at all would remember you,” I said briskly. “But I am sorry to see you looking so frail.”

“Old age comes to us all,” he replied, philosophically. “But Elise is as good a tailor as I ever was. If you want a waistcoat, I promise you, she will not disappoint you. She made this.” He pointed to the heavy greatcoat he himself was wearing. “I remember how you always praised my buttonholes. Hers are as good, are they not?”

I looked. “They are,” I agreed.

“And I do not get bored. Although I cannot pick up a needle now, I can still make designs in my head, and then I describe them to Elise and she draws them and makes them up. That is the one thing I still do better than she does.”

“And you describe them so clearly, too,” said Elise.

“Needs must.” His old eyes twinkled a little under their weighted lids. “Now, tell us about this waistcoat that you would like; but first of all, we had better measure you, for you are not the scrawny student we used to know.”

“Can you still measure?” I asked, doubtfully.

“Oh, no, but we have an assistant who does that,” said M Arnaud.

Elise was already calling into the back of the shop. “Aristide!”

Aristide promptly appeared with a tape measure round his neck. He was probably only in his late teens, but he was already a well-built young man with an untidy mop of light brown hair and a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes.

_Very_ intelligent eyes, in fact. Very... _familiar-looking_ intelligent eyes.

“Aristide,” I said, thoughtfully. “Would you mind telling me your surname?”

He blinked. “Holzfäller, sir,” he replied.

“That's 'my lord', Aristide,” Elise corrected him.

“Ah,” I said. “The reason I asked you that is that I believe I may know your father.”

His face hardened. “And do you, my lord?” he asked, politely but coldly.

“I do,” I replied. “But... forgive me for mentioning the subject; I see it is not a welcome one.”

“You were not to know, my lord,” he assured me.

There was an awkward silence. It was Elise who finally broke it.

“You should hear the story, I think, my lord,” she said, decisively. “If you are still in touch with M Holzfäller, then you can decide what you wish to do about it. We never met him ourselves, but everyone in Paris knew him by reputation, and it was, as I'm sure you are aware, not a good one. Aristide's mother had the misfortune to cross his path; she was a distant cousin of my father's. When they learned that she was expecting Aristide, her family threw her out and she had to fend for herself. My father helped her a little, as he could, but it was not enough. Eventually she died of consumption. By that time, Aristide was ten years old, so my father took him in as an apprentice, and he has been with us since then.”

I considered this. I wondered whether Aristide had the Spark; it was entirely possible that he had, and had simply not broken through yet. After all, he was young.

“If I could go back in time and help to repair the damage, I would,” I said, simply. “Aristide, I know what it is to lose a mother when you are young. I was nine when I lost mine.”

“You are a good man, my lord,” said M Arnaud. “Tell me, why did you keep such bad company?”

Because I was spying on him, I thought. No, that was not all there was to it. He was my friend even then. We were friends from the day we first met.

“He was not all bad,” I replied instead. “And he is a much better man now. He regrets the way he behaved while he was here. But regrets still put nothing right.”

“I think I would kill him, if I met him,” said Aristide calmly. “He was no father to me. I am sure he had no idea I even existed.”

Then I shall certainly not tell you he is in the shop next door, I thought. I took out my wallet.

“Money does not put things right either,” I said, “but it is what I happen to have. Aristide, put this away somewhere for when you decide to marry.” I handed him a roll of francs.

“I can't take that, my lord,” he said, firmly. “It is kindly and nobly meant, but you are not the man responsible for my mother's death. You do not have to pay for your friend's misdeeds.”

I could be firm too. “And suppose I wish to do so?” I asked, mildly. “Take it, Aristide. Perhaps it will help you to regain the life you might have had otherwise.”

“Yes, take it,” Elise echoed. “Don't be a fool, Aristide. We pay you as well as we can, but we know very well it is not much.”

Aristide accepted it reluctantly. “I am in your debt now, my lord,” he said, almost frowning.

“You are no such thing. I have simply made a gesture towards paying off a much larger debt owed to you by your father. Perhaps one day I shall settle that with him.” And perhaps I will not, I added mentally. I do not think Gil need know about any of this. He has the debris of a war involving an entire continent to clear up.

“If I did not think you were still his friend after all this time, I should recommend you to settle it by striking his head from his body,” said Aristide.

So much fire in this young man. So ironic to consider where he got it from.

I shrugged. “I am a diplomat now. I have other ways of settling difficult questions. But I am aware that time is pressing; would you measure me now, Aristide?”

He did, quickly and expertly. I described the waistcoat I had in mind, and M Arnaud smiled and nodded and committed every detail to memory, for, though his body was racked with tremors, his mind was as firm and steady as it ever had been. Then Elise showed me some suitable fabrics, and I chose the ones I liked.

“I will pay in advance,” I said, “because I shall not be staying in Paris long. I think the best plan would be to send it to Castle Wulfenbach.”

Elise stared at me. “You know the Baron, my lord?”

“Indeed. I know him very well.”

Aristide's bright eyes gleamed. “The Baron! He and his allies fought valiantly to keep us at peace. He is a remarkable man.”

“Yes,” said Elise. “We would not let Aristide go and fight for him. He was very disappointed, but, really, he was too young to go and join the army at that time.”

Aristide flared at her. “There were younger men than I in the Baron's ranks! You kept me only because you needed me here.”

“We did need you here,” Elise admitted, “but...”

At that moment, the shop bell rang, and to my horror Gil himself walked in.

“Ardsley,” he said, in tones of mild exasperation, “how long does it take you to get measured for a waistcoat? Anyone would think you'd not only put on a bit of weight, but grown an extra pair of arms like Boris into the bargain.”

Would they recognise him as the man who had once made himself notorious under the name of Holzfäller? I had to act swiftly. “Aristide,” I said, “this is Baron Wulfenbach.” Then I turned to Gil. “This young man was just bemoaning the fact that he was not allowed to fight for you in the war.”

That was it. That was all I could do. Either someone would see the obvious family resemblance now, or they would not.

My glance flicked to Elise's face. Ah. She had seen it.

Of all the diplomatic situations in which I have ever been involved, I can categorically say this was now the worst.

Gil caught the tension in the air. He looked at me, then at Aristide, then at Elise, then back at me again. I realised I was running my hand through my hair again; I don't do that quite so much these days, but in the circumstances I think I did quite well not to pull it out altogether.

“Baron Wulfenbach,” said Elise, flatly. She looked at her father questioningly.

Aristide was staring at Gil. I have rarely seen so many different expressions fighting for dominance on one face. It would have been quite an education, if the circumstances had not been so fraught.

Then he swung round on me. “My lord,” he said, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice. “You have deceived me.”

“Yes,” I said. “I had no choice in the matter.”

“Take back your money.” He reached in his pocket, but Gil snapped out a hand and caught his wrist.

“What money?” he demanded. “Ardsley, what have you been doing?”

“Hoping to atone for your past sins without your knowledge,” I replied heavily. “That appears to have gone very wrong. You should not have come in here, Gil.”

Gil sighed. “I thought so.” He looked at Aristide again. “So. You are my son. Very well. Give my friend his money back, then, but only because he shouldn't be paying my debts. I will do that. Who is your mother?”

“Was, Herr Baron,” Aristide snarled. “And I am sorry, my lord, that I said what I did just now. You did not ask to be a deceiver. It was your false friend the Baron here who forced you into it.”

“Wait, Aristide,” I said. “Gil is not false now. You forget whom you are talking to, and what he has done for Europa. You were praising him just now, when you did not know he was your father. I could not stop you two from meeting; but I will stop you fighting, or I will suffer myself in the attempt.”

They were still glaring at each other, but Gil shrugged. “He means that,” he told Aristide. “Ardsley would put himself between us if we both had swords. Don't make him.”

“My mother was Claudine Delacroix,” said Aristide quietly. “I'm sure you have forgotten her.”

“Claudine Delacroix,” Gil repeated. “Margot's sister. I remember now.”

“Aunt Margot is still alive,” said Aristide. “I believe she was instrumental in sneaking my mother out of the house to the nightclub where she met you. I don't talk to her these days.”

“How did your mother die?” asked Gil.

“Consumption. Her family threw her out of the house because of me. Because of _you_ , Herr Baron.”

“Oh, God,” said Gil. He buried his face in his hands.

“And you didn't know about any of this at the time, my lord?” Aristide demanded, looking hard at me.

“I assure you I did not,” I said. “If I had, I should have done what I could about it. But, although I knew that Gil's private life was... unlike my own, I never interfered or asked for details. I thought that if he had done harm, he would know.”

“I did not know,” said Gil heavily. “And if I had, things would not have come to this.”

Aristide handed me back the money I had given him. “You can no longer refuse to take this, my lord,” he said. “The Baron has already said he will pay his own debts. I am now waiting to hear how he intends to do that.” A brief smile broke through his scowl. “Still, do not think I am ungrateful. You are a better friend than he deserves.”

“Aristide, I was a British spy,” I said. “In turning your father into a devil, you are trying to turn me into an angel. I am no such thing. There is good and bad in all of us, and even the best of us sometimes find ourselves being forced against our conscience by moral dilemmas – as I was just now, when I had to deceive you.”

He curled his lip. “And, I suppose, even the worst of us sometimes find we must atone for our past sins.”

“Gil is not the worst of us,” I said, levelly. Oh, he had all Gil's fire; but I have steel when I need it, and it takes a great deal of fire to melt that. I had no difficulty in meeting his gaze.

“You want to know how I will pay my debts, do you?” said Gil. “Well, before I answer that question, I must ask you one of my own, Aristide. Have you the Spark?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he confessed. “But it is not impossible, I suppose.”

“If you think you can refrain from killing me,” said Gil, “I should like you to return with me to Castle Wulfenbach. I have an adopted heir already, but I should much prefer to have one who is my own offspring. If you do turn out to have the Spark, there will be no question about that; I will acknowledge you as my son and heir. If not... well, then, things may prove a little more complicated, but at the very least you shall have some position of honour. And, do not worry, M Arnaud; I shall fully compensate you for the loss of your assistant. You will be able to retire in comfort, should you so wish.”

“And if I do not think I can refrain from killing you?” asked Aristide.

Gil shrugged. “Then you had better come along anyway. You will be useful practice.”

“I would strongly advise refraining,” I said. “Gil has survived a large number of assassination attempts, and carries enough personal military equipment to take out a small town.”

“Small town? You're behind the times, Ardsley. I could take out Paris from here.”

Aristide frowned, and now there was something about his face which recalled not so much Gil as his father Klaus. “And what if I enjoy what I am doing now, and do not wish to come with you?”

“I am inviting you, not ordering you,” Gil replied. “If you would rather not come with me, so be it. I will settle a regular income on you, if you prefer.”

Aristide's eyes widened. “You are not ordering me?”

“No. My father used to do that to me all the time, and words cannot describe how much I hated it. I've already made enough of my own mistakes. I don't intend to add my father's to them.”

Well done, Gil, I thought. Well done. Finally, you have said exactly the right thing.

“Well,” said Aristide, and for the first time there was a tiny note of uncertainty in his voice. “Well. May I... may I have a little time to think about that, Herr Baron?”

Gil raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you may. But if you do decide to come with me, I expect you to call me Father.”

“Go!” said Elise, unexpectedly and vehemently. “We will miss you, but you will never have this chance again. You have the potential to be far more than simply a good tailor. Let the Baron help you to bring that out. It will be good for both of you.”

M Arnaud was nodding. “Elise is right. Tailoring may be a good career for Aristide Holzfäller, but it is no career at all for Aristide Wulfenbach.”

Aristide hesitated for a long moment, and then nodded. “Very well. I will come with you... Father.”

“Good!” said Gil. “Madame, please make him three good suits of clothes and have them sent up to Castle Wulfenbach. Do the best you can out of this.” He plonked down a bag of gold on the counter; it was clear that it would be more than enough. “We will wait for you outside, unless Ardsley wishes to visit the jeweller next door and stock up on all those mysterious little pieces of gold that hold his shirts together in the approved English fashion.”

He swept me out of the shop. “I am very well stocked with studs and cuff links, Gil,” I said.

“They should not take long. His clothes are neat and well-fitted, though made from cheap fabrics; I'm sure they were done on the premises and therefore they have his measurements already. All he will need to do is choose some fabrics, I think.” Gil turned to address our two long-suffering bodyguards. “Maxim, I have someone else for you to look after now. It appears I have a son. His name is Aristide. Look after him as you would me; indeed, more so, because he is not carrying a whole array of weaponry.”

“Hy vill, Herr Baron,” said Maxim. “Und hy vant hyu to know, hy haff been very goot indeed und not eaten any more of de macarons.”

Dame Lucilla rolled her eyes. “Oh dear,” I said. “Has he... expressed interest in doing so, by any chance?”

“Considerably, my lord,” she replied.

“Dammit,” said Gil. “Have another one each.”

“Tenk hyu, Herr Baron!” exclaimed Maxim gleefully.

Gil drew me aside. “Ardsley,” he said, “I'm not happy.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I believe that if Aristide were my son, I would be more than happy with him,” I said. “True, he is hot-tempered and a little harsh, but I think he is a fine young man nonetheless.”

“That's not what I mean. I absolutely agree that he's a fine young man. We'll have fights, I'm sure, but I would be a little disappointed if we didn't do that sometimes. It's just... well. He's probably not the only one.”

“So what are you going to do?” I enquired.

“That's the problem. I'm not sure if there's anything I can do. I have no idea how many children I have scattered around Paris. Most of them, I don't doubt, have their mothers' surnames. It was unusual that Claudine had him take the name Holzfäller; if he had been Delacroix, you might still have suspected he was my son, but you wouldn't have known, and therefore I probably wouldn't. It was the expression on your face when you introduced me to him that made it very obvious who he was, especially given his looks.”

“I'm slipping,” I said.

“Oh, don't worry about that. I personally think it's a very good thing that your face gives away the fact that you're in damage control mode. Apart from anything else, it signals that you may just be about to get between two ill-tempered men with swords, and I need to know when to haul you back.”

I smiled wryly. “Well. All you can really do is what you know, and now you know about Aristide and are doing what you can for him.”

“Too little, too late; but yes, Ardsley. You're right.” He sighed heavily. “And I swear to you on my life that I had no idea Claudine wasn't even supposed to be in that nightclub. If I'd realised her sister had sneaked her out of the house without her parents' knowledge, I would not have laid a finger on her. Even then, I did have some limits.”

“I know you did. I knew you wouldn't touch a married woman, for a start.” I glanced across at him. “But I take it you won't be calling on his Aunt Margot to let her know of her nephew's new position.”

“Certainly not. Aunt Margot can go to blazes; she's as much to blame for what happened as I am. Do you know if she ever did anything to help Claudine after she was thrown out?”

“I'm not sure, but from what the Arnauds said it doesn't sound a lot like it,” I replied. “But then, we don't know what her own circumstances were, after all.”

“Hmpf,” said Gil. “She taught me to...” He paused, looked at me, and then very deliberately finished, “Regret.”

I touched his arm. “Don't _just_ regret the past, Gil,” I said. “Here's Aristide again now.”

He was walking jauntily out of the shop with a little bundle of personal effects under his arm. “Well,” he said. “I'm ready... Father.” Then he looked at me. “And what am I to call you now, my lord?”

“Very good question,” said Gil. “We could try 'uncle', if that's acceptable.”

I smiled. “It is not merely acceptable. I would be honoured.”

I had hoped to spare Gil some regrets. I failed in that; but now I am glad I did. I think what he has gained outweighs everything I could have saved him from.


End file.
